


behind closed eyes

by Anonymous



Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst, Choi Youngjae-centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, OT7, Panic Attacks, Rape Aftermath, Self-Harm, protective got7
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 04:42:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11006211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: when he wakes up, youngjae’s disoriented, not sure where he is, not sure what happened -- what’s happening. but there’s pain shooting down his spine and down his legs, his limbs teetering between painful tingling and complete numbness, and he’s naked. his clothes are... are somewhere and he can’t move; what happened? what happened-(“so pretty… baby…” hands, hands, on him, in him. pushing and pulling and ripping--)oh.





	1. come crush me like a flower (rusted from the rain)

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning: rape, self harm, and i will add more as they come.  
> please don't read this if you think it will harm you in anyway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from Billy Talent's "rusted from the rain"

when he wakes up, youngjae’s disoriented, not sure where he is, not sure what happened -- what’s happening. but there’s pain shooting down his spine and down his legs, his limbs teetering between painful tingling and complete numbness, and he’s naked. his clothes are... are _somewhere_ and he can’t move; what happened? _what happened-_

 

“ _so pretty… baby…”_ hands, hands, on him, in him. pushing and pulling and _ripping_ \--

 

 _oh._  

at first, it doesn’t register in his hazy mind, everything moving too quick, the world spinning too fast for him to catch his own thoughts - but the longer he sits there, head throbbing and body aching, the clearer it gets. laying in a puddle of semen and his own _blood_ , the reality is much too real for him to ignore. he cries, wails brokenly into the open air, curled motionless on the ground (in his blood, _their_ cum, dirty, like him). _it hurts_ , he sobs.

he can’t breathe. every breath is a painful rasp in his chest, but no air is taken in. like his lungs are collapsing and compressing and the pain worsens -- makes him panic.

 

_“you wanted this… didn't you, slut?”_

 

“stop,” youngjae pleads to the silent air like a prayer, his voice scratchy and hoarse (from screaming, probably). his stomach churns at the memory, the feeling of cum-mixed-blood between his legs makes him nauseous. he can barely twist over himself before he’s vomiting, painful liquid pushing from his throat, his stomach.

it burns.

he can’t breathe.

 

the buzzing of his phone catches him off guard, once he’s managed to pull on his dirty clothes. his hoodie is covered in dust and his jeans are ripped (just like his underwear), they’re both dirty, stained with what he hopes is _only_ blood, but youngjae slips them on anyway (what choice does he have anyway). his tears have dried and numbness has crawled through his body, his mind. the panic is still there, buzzing in his chest, but the numbness moves him on autopilot.

he doesn’t want to think about it anymore but he can’t _stop._

 _12:31 am_ is what he sees when he reaches his (now shattered) phone. **missed call (49)** flashes across the screen, the names of his hyungs and his dongsaengs and his manager mingling together. _oh_ , he thinks, staring blankly at the phone. he feels cold, colder than before, and youngjae shakes. he wants to go home. he wants to be home with his hyungs, with his family, yet at the same time the very thought of being with them makes his stomach churn uneasily.

(he’s ruined.)

 

the phone is ringing again, but this time jinyoung’s name melts onto the screen. he wonders, through his numbed, panic-stricken mind, if he should pick up the phone. _i can’t_ , he heaves, wanting nothing more than to throw the cellphone as far away as he can as the ringtone persists - but his stomach swoops at the thought of jinyoung’s voice (sweet, comforting jinyoung) and he caves.

 

“ _youngjae?”_ jinyoung’s voice is relieved, albeit a little shaky, “ _thank god… do you know how worried we are? where are you!”_

 _he's angry,_ youngjae flinches, horrified. _because of me_. _all my fault…_ “i… im sorry hyung,” it takes everything in him to keep his voice from shaking, from giving away the fresh tears that start to drip from his swollen eyes. “i-i didn't mean-”

“ _youngjae_?” jinyoung interrupts him again, but  this time his tone is softer, curious. “ _baby, what’s wrong? you sound terrible.”_

youngjae freezes, throat closing up as his stomach lurches. _baby… baby…_ he hears the man’s voice in his ear, mocking him as he forces his way into youngjae’s body. youngjae wants to scream. but he doesn’t. he swallows his terror and laughs (fake fake _fake_ ), “n-nothing, hyung! i’m just tired, y’know… got lost, ha ha…” even to him, his voice sounds dull. forced. somewhere in him, he wants jinyoung to notice (he doesn’t).

 

jinyoung hums thoughtfully through the phone, and silence falls. he’s thinking, youngjae knows. “do you want me to call manager-hyung to pick you up-”

“no!” he interjects, far too quickly, “it’s fine, i can get home… i.. i’m not too far.”

the thought of being trapped in the car… alone… even with his _manager_ , of all people, makes his head swim uncomfortably. he can make it home, alone (but look how well that turned out last time).

jinyoung kisses his teeth through the phone, before he sighs in resignation. “fine. but if you’re not home in 20 minutes, i’m coming to get you myself, capiche?”

youngjae hums half-heartedly, mumbling out a placid goodbye before the dial tone blares through the speakers. _i’m sorry_ , he thinks, phone slipping from his fingers. he wants to go home. he wants to lay down and pretend this never happened.

 

(he wants to die.)

 

youngjae pulls his hood over his head, shielding his bruised and scraped face from the world. _how am i going to hide this,_ he wonders, hiccuping around a sob. _don’t cry. don’t cry_.

the walk is worse. every step is agonizing - the sharp spikes of pain coming back full force, the numbness fading away with every movement, wrists and neck and knees and hips throbbing with bruises. he was barely able to pull himself up off the ground, his legs trembling horribly because of the panic mixed with the pain in his ass (he tries his best to ignore the ugly sting and the stickiness in between his legs).

 

by the time he reaches the dorms, youngjae is shaking, weak and tired. he collapses against the wall of the elevator, hoping, praying that he’ll make it to his dorm before he falls. but the moment he steps in front of the door, the only thing separating him from the comfort of his hyung, he freezes again. youngjae can’t bring himself to open the door. can’t bring himself to face jinyoung (not like this).

 _i can’t…_ youngjae wraps his arms around himself, trying to steady his wobbly breath. _calm down, calm down._

 

he slides the key into the lock five minutes later, carefully slipping into the dorm quietly, ast to not draw attention as he closes and locks the door behind him. youngjae’s barely gotten out of his shoes (shakily and struggling and pathetic) when jinyoung bolts to the door, frantic and visibly frustrated.  

“youngjae!” the man almost shouts, with relief or anger, youngjae isn’t sure. the abruptness of his voice makes youngjae flinch backwards, stumbling over discarded shoes (they should really clean up. it's dirty _like him now dirty dirty dirty_ ) “you’re late! do you have any idea how…”  jinyoung’s voice trails off then. he can’t see what jinyoung is doing, why he suddenly went silent, too afraid to look up from where he’s glaring at the pile of shoes.

 

“hey,” jinyoung’s voice is impossibly soft and suddenly, his feet are right in front of him. his hand caressing the back of youngjae’s head (don’t panic it’s _jinyoung_ ). the hand is gentle (this time), moving to faintly squeeze the back of his neck with familiar tenderness. “sweetheart, what’s wrong? what happened?”

 _he knows_ , is the first thing youngjae thinks as cold dread pulls at his stomach, making him want to empty his vacant stomach again. _he knows… he’s gonna hate me… god it’s_ my _fault._ “n…nothing, hyung, i-”

“don’t lie to me, youngjae.” jinyoung’s voice holds the same firm tone he uses whenever he’s serious. “take off your hood, jae.”

 

“ _don’t lie to me baby, you like this don’t you-_ ”

 

in a panic, youngjae’s fingers (shaking and numb) grab onto the edge of the fabric, whimpering in terror when jinyoung tries to pull it from his grasp. “no!”

_no no no let me go let me go!_

“oh my god.” jinyoung gasps, backing up in shock ( _disgust_ ) once the hood falls down. he’s staring in disbelief, wide eyes fluttering between the bruises and scrapes along youngjae’s face and neck. “jesus…  youngjae, _what happened?_ ”

he’s touching youngjae’s face now, just barely, ghosting his fingers delicately over the dark bruise blossoming on his right cheek as if he were afraid of hurting youngjae even more. youngjae can see his cheeks heat up with anger, his eyes watering - but he doesn’t say anything, _couldn’t_ say anything as soon as jinyoung started touching him. _don’t touch me_ , he wants to say, wants to rip himself away from his beloved hyung and scream and cry. but at the same time he wants to press closer, wants jinyoung to wrap him in his arms and hide him from the world. he doesn’t know what to do anymore.

 

 _“_ i…” youngjae chokes out after a few moments, voice cracked and rough. his head rushes with overwhelming dizziness, “ _hyung_ …”

he barrels into jinyoung’s arms, burying his face into the older man’s neck as his sobs come back full force. his chest constricts, the sick claws of another panic attack trying to drag him into the abyss once more. it hurts. _“_ it hurts so much,” he whispers these broken words against his hyung’s neck.

“oh, baby,” jinyoung hushes him gently, wrapping himself around the shaking brunet protectively.

 

_“oh baby, so pretty…”_

 

youngjae tenses in his hold, his shaking turning to violent trembling. “no, no no-- _not baby_ ,” he pleads pathetically, “not baby!”

“okay, okay,” jinyoung agrees, confused but compliant. he kisses the top of youngjae’s head tenderly. “let’s get you into the bath, okay? its seems like you’ve had a rough time. you can tell me what happened when you’re ready, but hyung _needs_ to know.”

youngjae doesn’t realize they’ve moved from the doorway to the bathroom,  doesn’t really process what’s happening until the tub is filled and jinyoung is trying to tug up his sweater. youngjae has to stop himself from screaming, pulling away from jinyoung and crowding against the door ( _the man’s hands find their way up his shirt, wrapping tightly around his ribs, painful, suffocating_ ). “d-don’t… don’t touch me… _please_.”

jinyoung’s eyes widen in alarm and he raises his hands harmlessly. “okay, i won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, okay? i know you’re scared, youngjae-yah, but i promise i’m not going to hurt you. hyung just wants to help you.”

 

logically, youngjae _knows_ he’s safe. he knows jinyoung will take care of him, that his trusted hyung will do his best to make him feel comfortable - but the fear is too raw, too set in his weary bones for him to calm down. his heart's still racing, blood still pumping too quick through his numb limbs. youngjae can still see _that man_ behind his eyelids whenever he blinks, he can still feel _that man’s_ hands on him.

he’s scared (terrified).

but this is _jinyoung_. sly, cheeky park jinyoung who takes good care of his dongsaengs, of youngjae. there’s nothing to be afraid of, he tries to convince himself. jinyoung is still standing in front of him, patient as ever, with his hands held out in front of him and his comforting smile wavering.

 _it’s safe, youngjae._ he’s  _safe._

 

“jinyoungie-hyung,” youngjae breathes, reaching for the outstretched hands, tangling his cold fingers with jinyoung’s. the fear courses through his veins, but youngjae pushes it down. _hyung will take care of me_ , he tells himself, letting jinyoung pull him closer.

 _the man’s_ presence is still haunting his mind, youngjae isn't sure it will ever leave, but with jinyoung’s arms wrapped around him, youngjae feels a little bit safer.

 

 

 


	2. come strip me of my power (beat me with your chains)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“youngjae?” the brunet’s eyes blink open when jinyoung’s fingers prod gently at his swollen cheek. oh yeah, he hums absently, jinyoung was asking him a question. he doesn’t quite remember it, but youngjae nods anyway, head rolling lazily along the edge of the tub. he doesn’t hear jinyoung’s reply, but he feels soft (familiar) lips press against his forehead._  
>  he let’s his mind drift off with the frayed hope that maybe, he won’t wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the conflicting emotions present in the story are intentional.  
> title from Billy Talent's "rusted from the rain"

youngjae doesn’t look at jinyoung as he peels off his clothes, trying not to wince as his jeans catch against his wounds, scraping against the drying fluids caking his legs. he _can’t_ look at jinyoung, can’t bring himself to meet the older man’s eyes. shame bleeds on his face, stains his cheeks - sure, he’s changed in front of jinyoung plenty of times but this… with his cum-splattered legs and his cuts and his bruises and the feelings of shame and fear making him want to puke… this is different.

he doesn’t look up, not even as jinyoung takes a sharp breath once he pulls off his sweater, his jeans. he can feel jinyoung’s eyes trailing up and down his body ( _t_ _he man looked him up and down, tongue sweeping over his lips before he grins, lewdly-_ ), youngjae shivers in discomfort. jinyoung’s fingers close around his trembling hand, gently, carefully.

“youngjae,” he begins, and youngjae can hear the horrified shake in his voice. _he knows_. 

jinyoung knows.

“youngjae, i need you to tell me what happened.” jinyoung’s voice, however firm, shakes around the words, grip getting tighter ( _too tight too tight_ ) around youngjae’s hand. youngjae still doesn’t look up. he doesn’t want to see the disgust in his hyung’s eyes. “ _please_ , jae,” jinyoung’s voice cracks, then, the way it does when he’s trying to hold back his tears (and his anger).

he opens his mouth to reply - to say _something_ , but youngjae can’t seem to find his voice. all that comes out is a choked squeak as memories flash through his brain. the man is back. his hands are on youngjae, in him, around him, his voice whispering lewd things into his ear as he holds youngjae against the ground. pushing him down, going harder and _harder and harder-_

 

“breathe, youngjae,” he hears jinyoung call, loud and clear in the silent bathroom. he didn’t even notice himself falling, but he’s propped against the side of the tub now, chest heaving without oxygen. the cold of the floor seeps through his soiled boxers and youngjae clings to the feeling. clings to the hands wrapped around his own. clings to the sound of jinyoung’s voice.

a gasp rips from his chest when the air finally returns, and youngjae’s vision swims. black and white flash in front of him, skewing jinyoung from his sight before fading away. he feels something hot trail down his legs and faintly, youngjae realises he’s bleeding (again). he can’t feel the pain behind all the panic, the adrenaline, but he _knows_.

youngjae’s tears start again, but he makes no sound this time.

“it’s okay now, youngjae,” jinyoung whispers against the crown of his head, after pulling youngjae into his chest, “you’re safe here, with hyung. if… if you can’t talk about… _it_ yet, i’ll wait till you’re ready, okay?” somewhere underneath all the conflicting feelings (terror, guilt, disgust, pain… he doesn’t know what to feel anymore), youngjae’s thankful. grateful that jinyoung won’t push him, that jinyoung will wait for him.

(but will he ever be ready to talk about it when the mere _hint_ of what happened brings him to his knees?)

 

jinyoung helps him stand and he doesn’t need to be a genius to know the older notices the blood running down his legs. “i won’t look,” jinyoung assures, eyes closed even as he holds onto youngjae’s bare shoulders. trembling fingers latch onto the waistband of his underwear, hesitant. he doesn’t want to see the damage, doesn’t want to see the bruises he _knows_ are marking his thighs.

so youngjae closes his eyes too, and slowly steps out of the rest of his clothes. he feels exposed, uncomfortable, with nothing to cover him, but the warm water is welcomed. the bubbles hide most of his body from sight, and when he pulls his legs up, youngjae can only see the scabbing tops of his knees. the water around him starts to turn a light pink (from the blood. _his blood_ ) the longer he sits, but he tries not to think about it.

“will you be alright by yourself for a little bit, jae?” jinyoung asks him, running a hand through his sweaty mop of hair. youngjae’s head thunks against the side of the tub but he barely feels it, eyes going unfocused. the water is warm, cradling his numb limbs and soothing his aching muscles - he feels the sting, of course, of his open injuries, but more than anything he’s tired.

the water is warm and he is tired. paranoia wants him to stay awake, the feeling of unease in his stomach tells him he _needs_ to be awake, that sleeping isn’t safe - but, once off his feet, surrounded by warmth so different from the cold of the concrete alleyway, he can feel himself drifting.

 _it’s not safe_ , youngjae’s mind warns, trying to will his eyes open but it doesn’t work. everything hurts yet he can’t feel it at all. the fear is fresh in his mind, in his body, but he’s numb, disbelieving. 

 _not real,_ he tells himself. _it’s not real_.

“youngjae?” the brunet’s eyes blink open when jinyoung’s fingers prod gently at his swollen cheek. _oh yeah_ , he hums absently, jinyoung was asking him a question. he doesn’t quite remember it, but youngjae nods anyway, head rolling lazily along the edge of the tub. he doesn’t hear jinyoung’s reply, but he feels soft (familiar) lips press against his forehead.

he let’s his mind drift off with the frayed hope that maybe, he won’t wake up.

 

* * *

 

 

jinyoung closes the bathroom door behind him softly, back pressed up against the wood. his heart races in his chest, stomach dropped low enough to reach the ground. he can feel his hands start to tremble against the door handle, from grief and anger. how could someone do… _that_ to another person? _to youngjae?_ he feels sick just thinking about it.

but there’s no mistaking what he saw. there’s no mixing up the handprints on the little brunet’s hips and thighs, the scrapes on his knees and elbows, the unmistakable sight of _dried cum_ between his legs, with something as mundane as a mugging.  

_how could someone…_

jinyoung’s heart aches for youngjae, for their sweet, gentle vocalist with a smile brighter than the sun; his heart aches for the look of fear that should never have been on the young man’s face, for the tremble in his movements, the panic in his voice.

 

before he knows it, jinyoung is shakily pushing open the door to jaebum and jackson’s bedroom, hands slipping around the handle. jaebum needs to know, _youngjae trusts him_. “jaebum,” he whispers hoarsely, dropping onto his knees beside the leader’s bed. he shoots a look towards jackson’s sleeping form as he rolls over, cautiously lowering his voice. “ _j_ _aebum_ , get up,” he hisses, shaking the man’s shoulder.

jaebum’s response is annoyed, smacking away jinyoung’s hand as he rouses awake. “what the hell do you want,” he groans sleepily, glaring at jinyoung from under his pillow. 

gritting his teeth, jinyoung has to bite back his snarky reply. _now’s not the time_. “i need-- i need you to come with me right now, hyung-”

“are you crying?” jaebum blinks himself awake, pushing up from the bed. _crying…?_ jinyoung’s hands move to his cheeks, pulling back in surprise at the wetness under his fingers. “why are you crying? did something happen?”

there’s a protective tone in jaebum’s voice that, in any other situation, would have jinyoung smiling fondly, but at the moment he can’t bring himself to find the humor. not now. not when youngjae is sitting alone in the bathtub, battered and broken. “n-not me,” he chokes out, wrapping a hand around one of jaebum’s wrists and pulling, “it’s _youngjae_.”

 

immediately, the expression on jaebum’s face drops. he gets an uneasy feeling in his stomach; it must be bad, otherwise it would be _youngjae_ here, seeking out jaebum’s comfort himself. instead it’s jinyoung, looking frantic and heartbroken. his mind jumps to the worst, but jaebum forces that train of thought to stop there. “what happened?”

he lets jinyoung drag him out into the hallway, the bedroom door closing quietly behind them. jinyoung’s stumbling over his words, and his hands are shaking, but he freezes when they stop in front of the bathroom door. “youngjae,” jinyoung starts, staring at the bathroom door with a grieving frown. his voice is barely audible, nothing louder than a cracked whisper of words that will haunt jaebum for the rest of his life, “youngjae was raped, hyung.”

cold dread washes over jaebum, but anger replaces that quickly. “what the fuck?” he hisses, ripping his arm out of jinyoung’s grasp, “don’t say things like that so lightly-”

“i’m not lying, jaebum,” jinyoung cries angrily, turning to the older man with burning eyes, “i saw him with my own eyes… i saw… i saw the marks. he was so terrified when he came h-home, jaebum…” as jinyoung continues, trailing off into an incoherent babble, choking up on his tears once again,  jaebum’s left staring at the bathroom door in horrified disbelief. surely… surely that wasn’t the case, not for anyone in the group,  _not for youngjae_. he suddenly doesn’t want to know what lies behind that door, doesn’t want to see the evidence for himself.

clenching his fists, jaebum slips past the weeping jinyoung to push open the door before he could talk himself out of it, and immediately his heart drops down to his stomach. youngjae doesn’t even flinch as the door all but slams open, lying motionless against the side of the tub, face bruised and eyes closed. he can’t see much from above the water, but there are dark marks against the pale skin of youngjae’s neck.

 

jaebum feels sick looking at their usually bright, usually vibrant vocalist look so _dead_ . there’s no other way to put it; lying motionless likes that, his skin a translucent grey, youngjae looks dead. jaebum wastes no time in rushing over, ignoring the pain in his knees as he drops beside the tub. up close, youngjae looks worse. there are darkening bruises along his cheekbones and his lip is split, a painful looking scrape along his forehead. the water is stained with blood and the fact that it’s _youngjae’s_ makes jaebum’s rage grow.

he cradles the back of youngjae’s head softly, lifting it from it’s uncomfortable recline against the porcelain. “youngjae,” he whispers gently, trying to rouse the unconscious boy. “youngjae, please wake up.”

youngjae barely stirs, even as he’s moved, but his eyes _do_ open. puffy, bloodshot eyes look up at jaebum with no recognition. they’re dull - so different from the sparkling brown eyes he knows youngjae has… or, _had_ . jaebum grits his teeth, he vowed to protect the rest of his members from harm, to do his job as _leader_ and keep them all safe, but look where that got them? got youngjae? jaebum failed, he let youngjae down, and now the younger boy is suffering. _this isn’t fair_ , he wants to yell, watching youngjae’s eyes roam his face. _why youngjae? what did he do to deserve this?_

“hyung,” youngjae whimpers, finally, barely loud enough to hear even in the silence, “jaebum-hyung…”

“yeah, it’s me, jae,” he soothes, leaning over the edge of the tub when the brunet leans into him, curling his arms protectively around youngjae’s shoulders.

“ _hyung,_ ” youngjae says again, but this time the words are punctuated by a weak sob as his wet, pruney fingers clasp onto jaebum’s shirt. “i’m s-so scared…” jaebum’s heart clenches, unconsciously drawing youngjae in closer. _i know, jae,_ he replies silently, afraid to speak in fear of losing his own composure. he buries his face in youngjae’s hair, forcing away his tears. he can hear the tap of jinyoung’s feet behind them, the rasp of not only his shaken breath, but also youngjae’s. jaebum can’t break down.

_i need to be strong for them, for youngjae._

 

jaebum doesn’t let go of youngjae until the younger moves first, the swish of water breaking the eerie silence. nobody says anything as jinyoung kneels down to help wash youngjae off, as jaebum lets the youngest squeeze his hand tightly, as tears fall noiselessly down bruised cheeks. nobody says anything until youngjae is cleaned off, wrapped in three towels, and cradled in jaebum’s arms.

“sweetheart, you can sleep in hyung’s room tonight, alright? we’ll be with you the whole time, are you okay with that?” jinyoung asks, draining the tub.

youngjae’s head nods against jaebum’s neck, but other than that he doesn’t respond. the two hyungs exchange looks as youngjae’s legs tremble with strain. the bright-red first aid kit in jinyoung’s hands is heavy, a symbol of the reality of the situation. “we’re also going to wrap your injuries, okay?”

youngjae doesn’t respond, staring vacantly at a spot over jaebum’s shoulder. jaebum moves quickly as his legs give out, catching youngjae’s dead-weight body in his arms. his head lolls back against jaebum’s shoulder, eyelids fluttering over bloodshot eyes. “‘m so tired, ‘yung,” he mumbles, speech slurred so much that the two of them had to strain to catch his words.

“i know,” jaebum mutters against the crown of youngjae’s head, following jinyoung to his bedroom. he’s careful not to jostle the boy in his arms, slightly struggling even with youngjae’s light weight. his own hands are trembling with anger (how dare someone come after one of his own, come after _youngjae_ ) but he pushes it down. _youngjae first,_ he tells himself, like a mantra across his brain.

it’s not until youngjae is placed on jinyoung’s bed, after curling himself around one of the pillows, that jaebum realises just how _young_ the vocalist really is. _barely 20_ , he thinks with a mirthless laugh, watching youngjae’s eyes roam behind his eyelids. _“_ the world sure is cruel,” he mumbles aloud. though forced to grow up rather quickly in order to achieve his dreams, youngjae’s still a child, really. _a selfless child with a bright future…_ oh, how cruel the world really is.

 

jinyoung says nothing, sniffling every now and then as he (tries) to sooth youngjae’s wounds. he sends jaebum off to gather some of the youngest’s clothes, wasting no time in opening the first aid kit. the wounds were cleaned in the bathroom, raw and red around the edges, but the bruises are clearer - it's hard to look at youngjae, covered in marks. jinyoung pushes it to the back of his mind, _has to_ , to stop himself from breaking down again.

he has to choke back his sobs when he wraps the scrapes on youngjae’s thighs. _be strong,_ he repeats, over and over and over, as he’s (carefully) treating the wounds o. he’s in shock, probably - _god_ , jinyoung didn’t ever want to think about something like _this_ happening to any of them but he can’t ignore it _this_ reality. they can’t go back in time, ijnyoung can’t go back and take youngjae’s place (maybe if he’d offered to go with youngjae, he would still be safe).

“i’m sorry youngjae,” he whispers to the unconscious boy, stroking his fingers through the brunet’s wet hair after putting away the kit. jaebum returns wordlessly, clothes crumpled in his grasp. the two of them dress youngjae carefully, slipping on his favourite hoodie (which, actually, belongs to mark) and a pair of his loosest sweats. jinyoung makes sure to wrap him in the duvet, tucking him snugly under the blankets with the pillow still crushed in his grasp, pressing a tender kiss to the middle of youngjae’s forehead.

he joins jaebum on the floor, leaning his back against the side of the bed. the two of them don’t speak, unable to find the right words to say. jaebum hasn’t cried, but  his body went tense with anger (and if jinyoung looks close enough, he sees the dread and heartbreak in his shaking limbs) - jinyoung himself, is still crying, though subdued. the tears can’t seem to stop and with them, the breaking of his heart worsens.

 

they stare at the wall for awhile until jinyoung wets his lips, breaking the silence. “what… what are we going to do, hyung?”

he sounds vulnerable, more so than jaebum has ever heard. the elder wants to answer, to give his friend some words of wisdom… something that could ease his worried heart; but jaebum has nothing. for once, he has nothing to give. “i-i don’t know, jinyoungie,” he whispers, glaring at the wall, “but whatever we do, youngjae has to be okay with it… we-we can’t do anything he doesn’t want.”

jinyoung stays silent. he knows, both of them know, that the right thing to do would be to tell someone, someone who knew what to do, to say. but they also know that this is delicate, this is youngjae, who doesn’t speak up when he’s hurting, who can’t deal with negative attention.

behind them, youngjae stirs in his sleep, whimpering under his breath. jinyoung shifts on his knees quickly, catching youngjae’s hands in his and mumbling soothing words under his breath. jaebum watches them from the corner of his eye, frozen.

 

the _we have to be careful_ , goes unsaid, but both of them hear it loud and clear.


End file.
